The three men smoked meditatively awhile, amid a silence that was eventually broken by Gallagher.
“Playin’ it up kinder mean on me, ain’t yu’ Shorty?” he remarked bitterly. “I reckon I’ve always treated yu’ white.”
The shackled man, with sullen, averted eyes, gave a hopeless shrug.
“Didn’t aim to put it over on yu’ in particular, Barney,” he mumbled in a low voice. “I was just a ridin’ past here, casual like, lookin’ for some horses, when I see this steer a tryin’ to catch up to th’ bunch with a broken leg. I kin pay yu’ for it,” he added defiantly. “An’ if yu’—”
“Payin’ don’t go on a job like this,” interjected the Sergeant sharply. “Even if Barney was willin’.... Case is out of his hands. Besides, if yu’ can afford to pay for beef yu’ ain’t obliged to rustle it.
“Broken leg,” he continued, with an incredulous grin. “Yes, an’ I guess it ain’t hard to figure what broke it. I’ve seen th’ way yu’ rope an’ throw—lots of times. Casual! What? Oh, mighty bloody casual! A skinnin’ knife. A block an’ tackle an’ a butcher’s cleaver in a gunny-sack an’ that big cottonwood to sling th’ beef up to out o’ reach of th’ coyotes till yu’ could come around with a wagon an’ team for it after dark. What? Casual, eh? ... well, I should smile.”
A lull followed this sally. Presently Shorty raised his head.
“My shootin’ at that there coyote, it was, I guess, as fetched yu’?” he inquired gloomily. “I was down at th’ creek, gettin’ a drink, an’ when I was comin’ back I see him with somethin’ in his mouth.”
Ellis nodded and blew out a smoke ring with dreamy reflection.
“Aye, that an’ other things,” he drawled, slowly. “’Member makin’ that crack about a certain red-coated, yaller-laigged stiff whose goat yu’ was a goin’ to get, like th’ feller’s before him? ... A little bit—not much—I don’t think. Yu’ ain’t got no Corporal Williamson here. I’ve been a-layin’ for yu’ ever since, an’ now I reckon it’s yu’ for th’ goat.”